And We Drown
by eight 0f hearts
Summary: Lost in the jungles of Neverland together, Emma and Hook are forced to work out exactly where they stand with each other. "You don't trust me." (CaptainSwan)
1. Almost

**A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed my last story!**

**It is a total coincidence that both the CS pieces I've written so far have sleep as a central focus xP In any case - I think there's a lot Emma and Hook need to work out between them before they could ever get together romantically. Nothing like being trapped in the fearsome wilds to bring two people closer together, right?**

* * *

"Ah- damnit!"

It takes tripping over the same tree root three times before it fully sinks in that they have _literally_ been walking in circles. Emma always thought that that was something that only happened in cartoons. Apparently not.

"I thought," she grinds out as she clambers to her feet and brushes dirt from the knees of her jeans - her hands are scraped and she winces as she flicks away a bit of gravel embedded in her skin, "that you knew your way around this place."

Hook pauses a few metres ahead, seemingly not having heard the _thump_ as she face-planted onto the ground yet again. "I told you - the structure of the land has changed since I was last here."

"Yeah, blame global warming for the fact that we're _completely and utterly lost_-" she bites her tongue and tries to quell the rising anger. Okay, it's a shitty situation, but there's no need to let the stress go to her head. No need to get pissy, even as with every passing moment mental images of Tamara and Greg dragging Henry off God-knows-where play out at the back of her mind-

"We're not lost," Hook says sharply. Then, at her raised eyebrow, "Perhaps slightly _misplaced_, but I assure you we have not left the jungle by the shoreline. If we continue on in one direction, we are certain to emerge by the coast. From there we can make our way to the Roger."

"Or we could stay here and wait for the others to find us."

Hook shakes his head. "Staying in one spot out here is not advisable." He begins to walk again; when she doesn't move he back-pedals, takes her by the arm and starts pulling her along. Emma resists for a few paces, hesitant to move deeper into the jungle lest they end up in an even _worse situation_, but when he doesn't let up she starts moving again. After a few minutes he lets go of her and there's a rather awkward pause.

So.

It's not that Emma dislikes being stuck out here with _Hook_ in particular, it's just… well, that she dislikes being stuck out here with Hook in particular. Since arriving in Neverland, just over two days ago, they haven't exactly sat down and hashed everything out, and Emma's still not sure where she stands with him… and if there's one thing she doesn't like, it's not knowing where she stands with people.

It's like that game Henry used to play with her - _if you had to be stuck on a deserted island with one of the Avengers, who would you pick? _And she always answered Thor because he seemed like the one she'd find least irritating, his godlike metabolism probably meant he wouldn't starve to death as quickly as the others, and also _Chris Hemsworth's biceps much_?

But the thing is, at least with Regina they're motivated by the same burning desire to _save Henry as quickly as possible_, and they've sort of buried the hatchet for the time being, and even Mr Gold is bearable in small doses and they're connected by the loss of Neal-who-Emma-is-trying-really-hard-not-to-think-a bout, plus he probably wouldn't even have gotten them lost in the first place.

Hook's different.

She still doesn't know exactly_ why_ he's here, why he's helping them. Since they arrived in Neverland he's done little more than bark orders at them, fiddle around on the ship and nurse his ribs; she tried to approach to talk to him a few times but he always seemed to be _busy _with rigging or sails or the helm. And she herself was always half-distracted, mad with worry over Henry, trying to focus, wondering if the faint buzzing in her veins she'd felt since the burst of magic she'd used to aid Regina was normal or if she should maybe tell someone about it. She'd noticed, vaguely, that Hook avoided being alone with or even looking at Gold, to the point where he'd turn his back if they were standing within a few metres of each other-

irrelevant. What she does know for certain is that the last meaningful interaction they'd had before the threat of Storybooke going boom was her _knocking him out with an umbrella stand_ right when he'd been about to get his revenge - and she still doesn't _get it_, can't work out why he gave up just like that, how he can suddenly stand to be living in the same confined space as Gold-

"Swan."

She jerks out of her reverie; Hook's stopped walking, has a hand up to stop her.

"What is it?" she hisses, instantly on the alert, hand going to the gun she still has at her belt - though if her experience in the Enchanted Forest is anything to go by, it won't be much use. "Where are we?"

She realises, suddenly, that it's dark - the trees arch overhead into a thick canopy that blocks out the majority of the sunlight, the whole place smells like overripe fruit, and there seem to be more creepers and roots than there were before. It feels oppressive, as though the jungle is closing in on them, and she finds herself unconsciously inching towards Hook's side a little before she abruptly stops herself.

"We seem to have gotten a little waylaid," he replies, voice stiff.

"Waylaid?" she demands. _Continue in one direction, he said, we're certain to emerge by the coast, he said_, she thinks sourly. "So we turn around and go back?"

"It's getting late," he glances up and she notices the sky, dappled between leaves and branches, is fading to tangerine and violet with dusk. "Best to seek shelter… Neverland is dangerous at night."

"I thought that was just out on the water?" He'd insisted on dropping anchor both nights.

He shakes his head again. "Worse on the land. I thought I saw a cave back there."

"A cave," she repeats, trudging after him. "Great. Convenient. Very… Man vs Wild."

He glances over his shoulder, looking confused and amused in equal part.

The 'cave', as it turns out, is little more than a hollow between two very large trees. It looks like the sort of place dark and dangerous things would lurk (ie poisonous spiders and deadly snakes and other such delightful creatures), but Emma is long past squeamish by now and plops down without a second thought. It isn't until she's sat that she realises how _tired_ she is, her calf muscles protesting the movement and feet aching. She probably has blisters from all the walking.

Hook lets out a groan as he drops down next to her, hand moving to cradle his ribs. Emma shoots him a concerned glance and he responds with a - slightly strained - grin.

"So," Emma says, shifting to try and get comfortable. There seems to be a rock anywhere she tries to plant her backside. "We're just going to… sit here all night?"

"Ay, that seems to be the plan." He leans back, starts to fold his arms behind his head but winces again and quickly lowers them, folding them around his chest instead. "Much as I have anticipated a night spent in your company, I never thought it would be under such circumstances as these-"

"Ha ha ha." Truth be told, she's relieved he's fallen back into his flirting; the lack-of-banter was starting to become almost disconcerting. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Probably not. We can keep watches; if anything approaches we'll make a hasty retreat deeper into the jungle. Or up a tree."

She glances dubiously about at the surrounding forestry; there are few low-hanging branches and she is struck by the comical mental image of the two of them desperately trying to shimmy up a trunk while they're attacked by wild dogs or something.

Hook notices her expression and scoffs out a laugh. "Worst come to worst I will be happy to give you a… _boost up_."

"In your dreams, Hook."

"Not just in mine but in yours too, darling." As if looking up at her from under his eyelashes isn't enough, he proceeds to do some sort of involuntary tongue flick that really should not be as endearing as it is; Emma forces her gaze away.

There follow a few moments of sitting in awkward silence. Emma wonders what Snow and David are doing - if they've noticed they're missing by now. They were meant to be back at least an hour ago, preferably with the location of the lagoon they had been searching for. Her friends - parents - will probably be starting to worry. Might come looking for them, despite the night - she hopes Gold will stop them, she doesn't want them walking into danger.

Hook shifts beside her. "I'll take first watch, you can sleep if you like."

The thing is, she's tired but not sleepy, and no amount of shifting around could possibly make the ground comfortable. After ten minutes of rolling around she sits up, frustrated. By now all semblance of sunlight has slipped away and they are sat in almost total darkness; a beam of moonlight (_brighter than back home, _she notices idly) shines down through a hole in the canopy, allowing her to make out the side of Hook's face beside her. She registers, vaguely, that his eyes are very blue.

"Unused to the rugged lifestyle, Swan?"

"I don't make a habit of sleeping in caves," she shoots back, a little irritated. The stress is getting to her; it's not even as though she doesn't want to sleep - she does. Would give anything to feel at least a little more rested, a little more _able_.

"Would you rather take second watch?" he offers, perhaps hearing the odd note in her voice; she nods, wordlessly, and he settles back against the ground. The space is small enough that each of his movements jostles her side and she tries not to react, shifting to adjust the way she's sitting so her legs don't go to sleep.

For a little while the quiet is almost peaceful. A cicada begins chirping somewhere out in the dark and in the distance she can hear the babble of a brook, the faint trill of a frog - a luna moth settles on a branch nearby and it's enough to bring a smile to her face. For the brief few moments she allows herself to take her mind off Henry, Neverland is _beautiful_.

Then, of course, the moon decides to venture behind a cloud, fading everything into darkness, and suddenly the trickling water seems menacing, the frog much louder than it should be, and she thinks she hears branches rustling and twigs snapping faintly, making her jump and shiver and _what if something is out there in the dark-_

_No, you're being paranoid, Emma. _She's never known herself to be particularly twitchy, but this is a whole other world - she cannot flick on a light or turn on her phone to call for help. Suddenly the dark seems very frightening.

Another twig snaps. Her hand moves to her gun, the cold metal reassuring against her fingers, and she wonders if she ought to wake Hook. If he's even _asleep _yet or just pretending - she can hear him breathing next to her, shallow and fragmented - _broken rib breaths_ - the noise comes again, startling her. She makes to brace herself against the ground but Hook's so close to her that she accidentally grabs his leg instead. She snatches her hand back right away but she feels the way he jumps in alarm, and he's already sitting up.

"What is it?" he demands. Naturally, the mysterious noises choose this moment to vanish entirely.

"False alarm," Emma replies, embarrassed. "That is - I thought I heard something, but I didn't - sorry."

He doesn't seem irritated… doesn't lie down again, either, which only adds to Emma's suspicions that he wasn't actually sleeping in the first place.

"Terrifying places, new worlds," he comments instead, settling into a sitting position next to her. His knee bumps against hers and in the near-total darkness Emma is suddenly acutely aware of the contact.

"Only at night," she replies curtly, unamused by the implication that she is afraid. She is not - well, perhaps a little, but that's spurred on by the stress and exhaustion more than anything.

"It is the aura of the place, here," he continues. "More than any immediate threat. Your world, on the other hand…" he scoffs. "Noisy. Lights everywhere. Those vicious metal contraptions... Your night time is perhaps even more active than the day."

"Did you find that terrifying?" she can't help but ask - she forgets, sometimes, how new he and Cora must have found Storybrooke. If the culture shock of her falling into a quasi-medieval society from the modern world was bad, it must have been even more intense the other way around.

She can't see his expression but there's a grin in his voice when he replies; "Of course not. What do you take me for? I'm an adventurer, Swan. I am a _chameleon_."

"Cold blooded and reptilian?" she asks drily, and he scoffs again, amused this time.

"Adaptable."

"Yeah, you worked out the gun pretty quickly."

"The…?" it takes him a moment to work out what she's talking about. "Ah! The projectile weapon."

"The… yeah, the _projectile weapon_- just call it a gun, okay?" The moon chooses that moment to emerge and she jumps involuntarily - she didn't realise just how close Hook was sitting to her. He notices her discomfort and shifts back a little; she awkwardly ducks her head and fiddles with the buttons of her coat.

"You should really sleep," he says after a few moments. "Although if you _like _the idea of collapsing from exhaustion and my carrying you heroically through miles of jungle-"

"It's my watch, remember?" she retorts. "_You_ should be the one sleeping."

"I'faith, love, I doubt I will get any rest tonight, so I shall take over."

"That's very gallant of you, but-"

"But I know this world well enough to differentiate the sound of a potential threat from a bat or a possum," he points out drily, and Emma feels her cheeks burn but she can hardly argue with that. She shifts around some more, trying to get comfortable and failing, yet again. She feels another wave of frustration - the night seems to be dragging on and on and she can't help but feel like they're wasting _so much time_.

"Go to sleep, Swan," Hook murmurs. She glares at his dark silhouette.

"Unlike you my skull is not hard enough to feel comfortable using a rock as a pillow."

"Then feel free to lay your weary head upon my shoulder, or perhaps in my lap," he replies easily. Irritated, she rolls onto her back and folds her arms behind her head, staring up - there is a gap in the thick branches above them and she can see the starts, brilliant against the dark sky - she tries to pretend she is camping. It doesn't work.

"You're sure it's too dangerous to try and move on?" she asks. Hook harrumphs.

"Generally you have to _stop talking_ to sleep; it's like the whole concept evades you..." he mutters. "_Yes_, I'm certain - we would only wind up more lost, possibly dead in a ravine somewhere-"

"Okay, okay."

Somehow - miraculously - she actually manages to drift off for a little while. But, as has happened the past few nights, the little rest she snatches is plagued by haunting memories - sounds and smells more than images; the roar of the portal Neal was sucked into, Henry's screams as he was dragged away from her, the sharp tang of blood, the heavy, nauseating stench of _sardines_.

She lurches back into wakefulness with a start, a cold sweat on her brow.

"Okay?" Hook's voice asks gently; it makes her jump. She takes a moment to orient herself, _lost in a cave_ she remembers, and nods before realising he can't see her in the dark.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. How long was I…?"

"An hour at most." He sounds tired, now. "You need… Swan, you need to sleep." There's a strange note in his voice, an uncertainty that doesn't suit him.

"I'm fine," she repeats sharply. He shifts next to her, arm pressing against her side.

"I know you're worried about-"

"_We're all_ worried about Henry," she cuts in. "I'm fine, Hook, I'm not about to drop dead and leave you trying to explain the body to David-"

"That's not what I-"

"Can we just not talk about this." And she isn't sure why she's so frustrated suddenly, it's just… _she knows_. She knows she's too wound up, needs to relax before everything comes to a boiling point and she just _breaks down_ - Snow's waiting for it, watches her worriedly every minute on the ship and it's just _oppressive_, somehow. Because she hasn't had _time_, above anything else - time to cope with what happened to Neal, time to rationalise what happened to Henry and work out a logical progression towards getting him back - she hasn't had time to _deal_.

But five pairs of concerned eyes hanging over her shoulder anticipating a mental breakdown _really is not helping_.

To his credit, Hook doesn't push it, just turns away, and she feels bad for snapping, suddenly. Because he sounded genuinely concerned - which only feeds into the other questions plaguing her. _Why_.

"If I need to sleep you need to sleep too," is what bursts out of her when she can't stand the silence any longer; it's childish and somewhat irrelevant to the conversation at hand. Hook, though, stiffens so abruptly that she can actually feel his muscles tensing where his side brushes against hers.

"I'm fine." He mimics her tone from earlier, which only serves to make her more irritated.

"Shouldn't you be used to sleeping anywhere and everywhere?" The moon emerges again, stronger than before, spilling spots of light into their cave and turning their skin an eerie, dappled blue.

"Are you having nightmares, Swan?" he's looking at her, head tilted to one side, she meets his eyes and doesn't flinch.

"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you. Why'd you say you weren't going to get any rest tonight?"

"We're trapped in a reasonably exposed space in the middle of a highly dangerous jungle, forgive me for being a little preoccupied-"

"Bullshit."

His eyes flash with something she can't quite identify - not anger, but something close to it.

"Why do you care?" he asks then, in a low tone.

The question stuns her into silence for a moment. Hook stiffens again, as though he's gone too far, revealed too much, and shifts his body around so that he's looking at the floor.

Her move. She doesn't know what to say. The longer she waits, the more tense the silence between them becomes, building, building...

"Did you mean it?" she blurts out. He turns his head back towards her a little. "When you said..." she falters, pushes on, "You were done with revenge against Gold. Did you mean it?"

Critical strike. Hook's gaze drops to the ground again; Emma leans forward, tries to make eye contact- needs to read him. Needs to _know_.

"Does it really matter, Swan?" his voice is soft but somehow dangerous, it brings her back to Rumpelstiltskin's cell and a withered, dried up, apparently highly symbolic bean – _lost hope, betrayal_.

"Yes," she replies, keeping her voice steady. "It matters."

"Why?"

"_Because_," and she's frustrated now, exhaustion building to a pounding headache behind her dry eyes, limbs beginning to tremble with stress, "we're all on that boat- fine, _ship_, together, and if you two are about to go all Lord of the Flies on each other it affects us _all_. If something's going to jeopardise my son- my _son_, he's Henry's grandfather, I can't... I need to know. If I can trust you."

"You don't trust me." She can't tell if it's a question or a statement or _why it should even be a question_. Of course she doesn't trust him... how can she, with so little to go on? Because yes, he came back, and he's helping them, but she doesn't even trust her _family _yet, not completely, not even as much as she _wants to_ - she knows they'll do anything for her but she doesn't know_ them_, not yet.

"I… no."

The words settle heavily around them and she feels, suddenly, as though she's failed some sort of test. Hook meets her eyes then, but says nothing, and she feels like she's fallen into some void because she _can't read him_. Doesn't know what he's thinking.

"Naturally," he says finally, voice tight, and then lies back, shifts onto his side so that his back is to her, and falls into silence.

At least, she thinks, distantly, he respects her intelligence enough to not pretend to snore.

She feels abruptly sunken, as though the wind was knocked out of her, and drained, and very, very tired, her arms heavy by her sides. Leaning her head back against the hard trunk of the tree beside her, uncaring about what sort of termites or critters are probably crawling around in there, she lets out a long stream of breath and waits for the dawn.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews and con-crit are greatly appreciated! Still not overly happy with my characterisation of them (I seem to be trapped in the stream-of-consciousness style xP).**

**This will be a two-shot (maybe three-shot), debating whether I should switch to Hook's POV next chapter? IDK**

**Thanks for reading! :) Hope you enjoyed~**


	2. At Times

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and fav'd last chapter! Especial thanks to **J-J-Sawyer-Phillips, ChamerlinofMusic, ILIKEPIET, Lisa1972, loveimagination18, Madj, Honeydewmelon56, Griffinesque, Lunalove25, TallyKayda, The Pearl Maiden, 1983Sarah,** and** melly326**! Your feedback was much appreciated :) *hugs***

**Not super happy w/ this chapter, I'm still not entirely confident with the characters xP**

* * *

_beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep-_

The foreign noise has Killian stirring from where he was beginning to zone out. He registers that it is nearly dawn, the sky faded to grey and the sun beginning to stir, creeping over the horizon - and the sound, a harsh and relentless trilling, is coming from very near to them. He scrambles to his feet, hook raised in front of him and one hand going to his sword-

"Shit, that's me… where is it…" Swan moves frantically beside him, far too quickly for someone who was just roused from sleep. It only feeds his suspicions that since he took over their night watch she did nothing but lie there, pretending to slumber - as he himself did, barely a wink caught between the two of them.

"On your guard," Killian warns. She's still rummaging in her pockets - for her weapon? He sees the gun on the ground beside her and points. "There. It's close to us, whatever it is-"

"Calm down, Hook. It's not a threat…" she trails off as she fishes a device from her pocket. The beeping noise intensifies, then stops abruptly as she taps at the machine - whatever it is.

He stands still, watching her until she puts it away and looks up at him. The eye contact is awkward and he fights the urge to look away. Overnight the tension between them has built up until you could cut it with a knife.

"Phone alarm," she says, apparently by means of explanation. The words mean nothing to him. He would ask, but a quick sweep of his gaze over her confirms that Swan is still, it seems, very much at odds with him. There are dark circles under her eyes, her hair and clothes dishevelled from the night spent on the hard ground, and her body is turned away from him slightly, braced as though expecting a verbal attack.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, turning away.

"Threat or not, it's roused everything in the jungle around us by now," he says wearily. "We should move. It's nearly light."

"Yeah," she agrees quietly.

They begin to walk.

It isn't long before the adrenaline wears off and a headache kicks in, exhaustion and lack of food catching up with him. Swan must feel even worse; he knows she's barely slept since they got here - and it's not just from the stress and worry of looking for Henry; this world is not a particularly relaxing place. There's something dark about it, a sense of constant danger. It is not a land for the weak of heart.

God, he hates Neverland.

There's some irony in the fact that of all the worlds he's traversed it remains the one he is most intimately familiar with - the jungles, coasts and landscapes may change but he still _knows_ it, innately - can sense the threats, can smell the dawn or the rain approaching, can read the world's oceans and wings like the back of his hand.

Yet he _loathes _the place, and the memories it brings.

That's the thing about Neverland - it's not just that you don't age physically while you're there, if you're not careful, it can paralyse you emotionally as well. Leave you to fester in whatever problems and pains you bring here. 300 years in the place, directly after the loss of his hand (the loss of his _heart_, or what he kept in it) - it's a struggle not to think of Her, especially when the last time he was here he spent three centuries straight plotting the demise of the man - _beast_ - who now saunters on his ship, so tantalisingly close yet out of reach.

_Don't think about it_.

"I hate to ask - but do you know where we're going?" There's a flatness to Swan's tone that he doesn't like - especially since he was the one who put it there.

"East," he replies, since it's the truth.

"East," she repeats, then breaks off with a curse. He hears her stumble and pauses, turning in time to see her nearly slip on the gravelly ground. He looks down and registers that the path is turning rockier, the trees becoming more sparse.

"The jungle's thinning," he comments, waiting for her to steady herself before walking on. "It's a good sign, means we're close to emerging…" he trails off as something occurs to him. "Your device."

"Device?"

"The noisy object. The…" he shapes a vague rectangle with his hand and hook and Swan blinks a few times before her eyes light up with comprehension and she draws it from her pocket.

"The phone?"

"Aye, that - it is an appliance of communication?" he questions, recalling Regina having used something similar.

"Yeah… in my world." She seems to catch on. "I can't use it to contact the others - not here. There's no reception." At his blank look, she adds, "The thing that lets it connect to other phones. It doesn't work here." She stares at it wistfully for a moment before shoving it back in her pocket. "Once it runs out of battery it'll be useless for anything."

'_Battery_?' he mouths curiously. He doesn't intend for Swan to see, but she does, and he sees her lips start to twitch into a grin before she forces the expression away. For some reason the gesture makes him feel a little warmer, a little less tense, and his heart is lighter when he turns to continue hiking.

* * *

The jungle fades into hilly bushland; rolling slopes of yellow gravel lined with sparse white gum, dry grass and anthills. Killian sniffs the air and can't help but smile when he catches the scent of salt water. There's a good breeze- the coast is not too far from here.

Another deep breath - and the pollen in the air has him breaking into a coughing fit, which hurts like a bitch with his ribs. They've been acting up since Maleficent threw him into that rock down in the library vault - he swears they _crunched_ and since then he has been trying very, _very_ hard not to cough or sneeze.

"Are you…" Swan trails off, one hand reaching out but not quite touching him. He glances at her as he swallows a few times, recovering as he presses one hand against his chest as though that will hold the fractured bones in place.

"I'm fine." His voice is wheezier than he would like, and he clears his throat before turning and walking on.

Her concern has his skin prickling with some unidentifiable heat. _Why do you care, _he asked last night, and it was a genuine question. Which, he notes bitterly, she completely failed to answer.

He isn't sure why he resents that so much.

_'I need to know if I can trust you…'_

That hurt, not going to lie. Because objectively he can see _exactly_ why Swan doesn't trust him; he is a pirate, a traitor, _rotten to the core_ - even returning the bean must have looked suspicious. Of course she thinks he has some ulterior motive. Why wouldn't she? Why would _any_ of them even have accepted his help if it wasn't for them having no other choice?

But at the same time he can't help _wanting_ her to trust him. And it has been a long, long time since he last sought anyone's approval so desperately - there is just something about Swan. He sees himself in her, and it awakens something in him - something he can't name but that has him desiring her regard.

He _likes_ her, and he hasn't done much more than tolerate people since Milah died.

He glances at Swan, a few steps behind him. She seems lost in thought, her brows furrowed together slightly, hands jammed in her pockets, kicking at the gravel a little as she walks. Normally he can read her easy as anything, but right now all he knows is that she's irritated.

He wonders if she thinks he is angry with her.

He's not. He's angry with _himself_ - for hoping too soon that he had her trust. For _deluding himself_ into thinking she liked him far more than she, apparently, actually does.

"Hook… can we stop for a sec?"

Killian turns again and sees that Swan is leaning against a nearby tree, breathing heavily. Knowing her pride, it must have taken a lot to ask for the break and he nods quickly.

Swan slides down the tree's trunk to sit on the ground, and okay, he was _joking _last night about the whole collapsing-from-exhaustion thing, but now that's looking like a distinct possibility and he is hit by a sudden and intense pang of concern.

"Alright, lass?" he asks quietly, moving to crouch by her side.

Swan nods, but her eyes are squinted slightly as though the light pains her. She obviously has as much of a headache as he does, if not more.

"I'm fine. Just gimme a minute…" she squeezes her eyes shut again and swipes her tongue over her dry lips. Killian can't help the way his eyes track the motion.

_Dehydration_, he thinks suddenly. He pulls a waterskin from the pocket of his coat - it's nearly empty but there's still a little left in there.

"Drink up, Swan," he says, tossing it into her lap. She jumps, opening her eyes and picking up the leather skin with a slightly suspicious look.

"It's not rum, is it?" she asks dubiously, and he barks out a laugh.

"I assure you there is nothing alcoholic in there. I cannot, however, guarantee its safety as it is not boiled." He grins and Swan rolls her eyes before drinking; he finds it endlessly amusing how back on the ship Snow made her daughter boil anything before drinking it. He initially thought it was some sort of fancy custom until Regina tried to explain something about visiting new places, bacteria, and 'filtration systems' whatever those were. It seemed a load of rubbish to him, and no matter how much he tried to assure them that the water was perfectly safe Snow just glared at him until he finally gave up.

When Swan takes only a small sip he impatiently motions for her to have the rest. After a second's hesitation she complies.

"Is this all you have?" she asks finally, sounding a little less hoarse as she folds the empty sack and hands it back to him.

He nods. "Not to worry. We'll be back on the Roger in no time."

"We're almost there?" she perks up, looking around, and he points along the track - there are hills in the way but he's certain the ocean is just beyond.

"Aye - a few hours' walk if we're quick… assuming they haven't moved the ship." He grimaces at the thought of any of the others trying to sail, especially considering the rocky harbour they were moored in. Rising, he holds out a hand and helps Swan to her feet, steadying her when she sways a little.

"I'm fine," she repeats, before he can ask. She looks up at him and Killian freezes, because the whole open-book thing goes both ways and he doesn't want her to realise how pathetically desperate he is to try and help her. He pulls away quickly, turning to walk on.

They haven't been moving for much more than an hour when they encounter a problem. The path downhill leads into a rocky gorge, gushing water trickling between stones that are worn smooth and slippery. By this point the sun is high in the sky and he's starting to get worried about basilisks - from what he recalls they lurk in these parts and the weather will draw them out. They don't have time to backtrack and look for another path.

"What's wrong?" Swan asks, noticing he's stopped. She peers around him and grimaces when she sees the steep, slippery slope. "Uhh - we gonna climb down that?"

"It's not the most desirable option," Killian mutters. He looks around. "Stay here a moment while I see if there's a way around."

"Why?" she demands instantly, making him stop short in surprise.

"Why what?"

"Why am I staying here?"

He can't help the flash of annoyance, being stressed enough about their situation without her constantly questioning him. He turns to her with folded arms.

"I know that you don't trust me, darling, but surely you don't think I plan to abandon you here and return to the ship on my own." As soon as it comes out of his mouth he grimaces, realising how irrational and petty it is - but it's too late now, and Swan's already narrowing her eyes at him.

"That's not what I meant and you know it! Forgive me for wondering why we're splitting up when we could both go - or better yet, each check in one direction. That might save us a little time, don't you think, _Captain_?" she spits the epithet as though it's an insult, and he glares.

"I'm hardly sending you off into the bush alone when you're as likely to get yourself killed by a plant as you are by a cryptid," he shoots back. It's a low blow; he knows how much she hates it when they rub in her face the fact that she's so new to this sort of environment. "And what else am I meant to derive from your words…" the last bit is a mutter, more to himself than to anyone else, but Swan latches onto it. She strides forward, glaring up at him, and as long as they're arguing he's forced to hold her gaze or risk being the one who looks away first.

"For God's sake, Hook, you don't need to _sulk_ about that! It's not that I don't _want_ to trust you… if I'm such an open book you should know by now that it takes _time_ for me to…" she trails off, tone filled with frustration and no small edge of embarrassment, as though she's revealing too much, making this too personal. Killian stands transfixed, frozen. She barrels on, "So don't put words in my mouth and _don't _project your own doubts about yourself onto me."

She might as well have slapped him.

It takes a lot to shock Killian into silence - to say something he can't twist to his advantage or turn into an innuendo, but Swan has managed to hit the mark spot-on.

He leaves the silence a moment too long and now he can't even lie, protest, turn her words back on her, _I'm not the one with self-doubts here Swan_, because it will look like the blatant lie that it is.

With all the childish logic of an eight year old, he promptly decides that ignoring her is the best option, and stalks off into the jungle.

He doesn't know what it says about them that Swan decides to wait by the gorge anyway. When he returns ten minutes later he checks the other side, but there is no route past in either direction.

"We'll have to climb down," he says curtly. He avoids looking at her - doesn't want to see whether she regrets her words. Is scared that she doesn't - that she _means them_, that she really sees him as so pathetic, unstable, self worth through the floor, worried that despite everything he won't be able to control himself and will panic and turn sides and retreat back into his own selfishness. Because if Swan believes it it will only confirm that it is _true_.

As it is, he sees her nod and she moves in front of him.

The slope is steep, the stones worn smooth by the trickling water. They begin their descent slowly, struggling not to slip. The rocks at the bottom are sharp and dangerous looking, and given Killian's track record with the laws of physics he is extra careful about where he places his feet.

The constant babble of the water becomes maddening after a few minutes. He is itching to speak, to break the quiet, and at the same time he has no idea what to say.

As it is, Swan chooses that moment to lose her footing, flailing wildly as her foot slips and she begins to fall. He reaches out, consumed by blind panic as he grabs her wrist and hauls her towards him.

"Careful!" he snaps, heart pounding. It comes out angrier than he intended.

"I _am_," she shoots back once she's steady. There's an edge of hysteria in both their voices. She yanks her wrist back and rubs it; Killian starts guiltily. He hadn't intended to grab her so hard - hadn't thought of anything but to stop her falling.

He inches down another half a metre, then offers her his arm. She hesitates before she accepts - this part of the climb is particularly difficult so it is only logical for them to try and work together.

"How much farther?" she asks, very carefully not looking down.

He checks. "A fair way. Are you scared of heights?" It is a relief to re-adopt his teasing tone.

Swan only pauses briefly before passing the ball back. "After that beanstalk this is a piece of cake. So no, I'm not."

"Admirable." He takes another few steps, carefully avoiding a place where water gushes from a deep crevice. His legs are soaked to the knees by now.

Swan slips again, with a muttered curse, this time landing on her side in a shallow pool. He helps her wordlessly to her feet as she splutters, trying to fight back a smile.

"Yeah, laugh it up," she murmurs, catching sight of his expression.

He snorts. "Sorry- but you didn't look entirely dignified. You alright?"

"Worst bruise is on my pride." A pause, then, flatly, "Are we fighting?"

"What?"

"I just want to get this straight. Are we angry at each other? Because every time I think you are, you seem to revert back to normal."

He is flabbergasted a moment. "Are _you_ angry with me?"

"Irritated. But I…" she hesitates, eyes trained on the rocks in front of her as she walks. "I didn't mean to insult you. Before."

"It'll take more than that to insult me, lass." A roundabout lie - he was hurt more than offended. She's eyeing him thoughtfully. He keeps his gaze on the rocks in front of him.

She is right, though - their conversations seem to snap between argument and something teasing and almost affectionate, and it can't just be written off as the stress of being stuck out here in the wild together.

"If it is any consolation to your pride," he finds himself saying, "It was only out of concern for your safety in this land that I recommended you remain by the gorge. Were we in your world I would, of course, have the utmost confidence in your ability to take care of yourself."

"Right. That's… reassuring. And if it's any consolation to _your_ pride," she adds, again glancing at him sidelong, "You do know why I can't trust you yet, right?"

He grits his teeth - it is a sore subject- but nods. "Yes. I… do. I didn't mean to push you."

"You didn't."

The subsequent silence should have been companionable, reassuring in the knowledge that they had mended their bridges for now - but somehow it remained stilted, awkward, as though there was something not quite finished about the conversation. Something that remained to be said.

Of course, the rocky path takes this moment to crumble under them, gravel rolling under Killian's boots as he abruptly loses his footing and finds himself tripping. They're at the steepest part of the incline, and when Swan yelps in surprise and grabs his arm to try and haul him back, he ends up dragging her down with him.

They're not too far from the bottom but the impact with the ground still _hurts_, knocks the wind out of him and sends blinding pain spearing through his ribs.

"Shit!" Swan gasps next to him. He blinks a few times, spits out a mouthful of mud, tries to roll over to see if she's hurt but stops with a pained shout when the motion only sends more pain stabbing through his chest.

"Bloody hell," Killian croaks, and gives up, opting to call out from his position face-down on the ground. "You broken anything?"

"Ow. I don't know. My ankle- might've sprained it. I'm fine."

He feels her hand on his shoulder, grimaces as she pushes him onto his back.

"You okay?"

"Marginally." He sits up, wincing, arms wrapped around his chest as he breathes through the pain. "I'll live."

He looks up. Swan is crouching next to him. Their eyes meet and she offers him a small smile before rising and looking around. She's leaning heavily on one leg, favouring the other foot, and puts a hand against a nearby tree for balance.

"As long as you haven't punctured a lung or anything. Are we close to the coast?"

He looks around, thinks he recognises this part of the jungle.

"Aye - not too far now. We should hit the treeline then be able to walk back along and get to the bay." He struggles to his feet. Swan offers him a hand but he ignores it; she looks unsteady enough supporting her own weight let alone his.

Once on his feet he is forced to stop and lean against the tree as well, waiting for the pain to subside. If just standing hurts he doesn't particularly want to know what _walking _will feel like. Swan's face is white and pinched.

"How's that ankle?"

"It's fine."

"I may not have your gift, love, but I know a blatant lie when I see it. Can you walk?"

She takes a few steps; all remaining colour drains from her face when she tries to put weight on her injured foot.

"Ahh... maybe not so fine after all." She hops back to the tree and leans against it. Their shoulders are pressing together slightly and Killian is suddenly acutely aware of the contact. He swallows, tries to focus.

"Right. Well. We'll hobble our way along slowly, shall we?" He starts to pull her arm up over his shoulder and she wriggles free with a yelp.

"What are you doing?!"

"Assisting you!" He grabs her arm again and lifts it over his shoulder, his hand moving around her waist to hold her up. After a moment or so she relaxes slightly and shifts her arm around his back to support him.

"Okay," she says stiffly. "Move that hand any lower and you'll have two hooks."

He starts to laugh but stops when it jolts his ribs. "Fear not Swan, I would never exploit your vulnerable state like that."

"Sure you wouldn't," she says, but sounds almost _fond _in her exasperation. "On three?"

"One, two-"

They begin to walk, slowly, limping horribly. There seems to have been a mutual decisions that they are both in far too much pain to argue, or protest when someone presses a little too hard or moves a little too fast.

After what seems like hours they stop for a rest, exhausted. Killian looks around and realises they've barely travelled a hundred metres.

"I fear this will take a very long time," he comments, and to his surprise Swan _laughs_.

"How did we even end up like this…?" she scoffs.

"Gravity," Killian replies solemnly, and Swan rolls her eyes.

"Shall we?" he asks, proffering his arm again, and she wordlessly takes hold of him as they continue their long, slow journey.

* * *

**A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing xP**

**One more chapter! (I might be a while updating because I have a flood of assignments ayooo).**

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Reviews and con-crit are, as always, great appreciated :)**


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